


Claustrophobia

by Miri1984



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, PTSD, Trauma, jacobi and kepler are not nice people, kepler wants his scotch back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12366867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984





	Claustrophobia

Renee didn’t realise there was something wrong until Doug was about to get into the suit. There was a whole lot of arguing and shoving and pushing and discussion of what was the best way to calculate trajectories to get the bottle in the shortest time possible, and the sight of Jacobi’s face and his smug self-assurance was always enough to distract her, but eventually the sound of Doug’s quick, panicked breathing, and to be honest, the lack of irritating interjections into the argument, finally made her look to where he was… supposed to be getting suited up.

Jacobi turned when Renee fell silent and she could hear his eyebrow raising. “Forget which feet to put in which boots, Eiffel?” he said. 

Eiffel’s breath, if possible, got faster. 

“Eiffel?” she asked.

“No,” he said shortly, and he jerked forward, shoving his feet into the boots, and reaching down to pull the suit up over his legs with hands that were shaking so much the suit’s zips and controls were clanking against each other.

Sweat was pouring off his face. She saw a droplet detach and float towards her as he pulled the suit over his shoulders and shoved his hands into the sleeves.

“Eeeiiffell?” she said.

“Just…” he gasped out. “Just a sec, Commander.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jacobi said. “Eiffel did you eat all the Urania’s chilli supplies before you got here because we’re already in enough trouble and I...”

“I’m _fine_ , Jacobi,” he hissed. “Just… shut up and let me… Commander can you…” he indicated the seals and she moved forward, snapping shut the first seal on his wrist.

He _winced._

And he was _still_ shaking.

“Eiffel,” she said, more softly this time. “Talk to me.”

His eyes slid to Jacobi, and he lowered his voice. “First time,” he stuttered out. “First time in the suit since…”

Her hands stilled on the seals, realisation dawning.

_Since before Lovelace’s bomb. Since before 100 days… more, alone in space, hacking ice off his chest every morning while he watched his hair and fingernails disappear._

_First time in space since the USS Unending Nightmare._

“Shit,” she said. “Get out, Doug, you’re not doing this.”

“Excuse me?” Jacobi said. “Kepler gave orders that…”

“I _don’t care,_ Jacobi, Eiffel’s in no condition to go out that airlock right now. I’ll go instead and we can..” 

Comm spluttered. “Is there a problem, team?” Kepler said. 

“No sir,” Renee said, before Jacobi could say anything. “We’re just checking the seals on the suit.”

“Gooood,” he said. “Could we hurry things up a little, though? Things to do, people to see, you know how it is.”

“Yes.. yes sir.”

Comm turned off and Renee fumbled with the seal on Doug’s glove, trying to find the release. “Commander… don’t…”

Jacobi lunged forward. “Kepler gave orders,” he said. “Eiffel _has_ to be the one in that suit.”

“Kepler doesn’t have to know,” Renee said. “It’s not like any of us look different when we’re in that thing, we can switch easily enough…”

Jacobi pulled her back, not hard, but enough to make her float back towards the other wall of the airlock. 

“Jacobi!”

“Kepler,” Jacobi ground out, as he resealed Doug’s arm seal, and moved to the other, “gave _orders.”_

“Jesus, you’re something else, Jacobi,” Renee said. “This man is going to have a panic attack and get himself killed out there and…”

Jacobi rolled his eyes at her. “And you don’t think the General _knows_ that?” he said. She tilted her head, realisation dawning. Jacobi tutted and snapped another seal shut. Doug let out a short, sharp breath. “This is a _punishment_ Minkowski, not a holiday stroll in the park.”

Her eyes met Doug’s, and she could see resignation in them, alongside the fear. “Son of a bitch,” she breathed. “I’m going to kill him.”

“It’s okay, Commander,” Doug said. “I can do this.” 

But his voice was shaking.

“Eiffel… you can’t go out…”

“Commander. It’s. O. Kay. Quick trip out. Grab the bottle. Come back.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Easier than shooting womp rats in a T16.”

Jacobi had finished with the seals on the suit and was reaching for the helmet. Renee had to shut her eyes so she didn’t see Doug’s expression as Jacobi slid it over his head.

It might as well have been an empty suit out there. Doug had obviously decided to turn off comms on his end, so she couldn’t hear the sounds of his panicked breathing, or whatever else he was doing to get himself through. Reciting all of Star Wars from start to finish. Singing bad eighties musicals. 

Or screaming. 

She couldn’t imagine that the Doug she knew would be able to get through the whole forty minutes without saying anything at all. 

Then again.

_She couldn’t imagine the Doug she knew would be capable of kidnapping, either._

She didn’t know him at all, really. 

The airlock cycled. A gloved hand shoved the bottle at Jacobi, who nearly dropped it, then fell to pulling at the seals on the helmet, scrabbling with all the desperation of someone who was drowning. God he _had_ nearly drowned in that thing, she’d almost forgotten _that,_ this fucking station, this fucking mission… 

She wondered if Kepler had a little list kept somewhere, in a leather bound black book, _Likely Trauma Triggers for the Hephaestus Crew, Alphabeticised._

_Fuck_ him.

She turned to Jacobi. “Get the bottle to the General,” she spat, not even bothering to hide her contempt. Jacobi smirked, but left, apparently happy enough to let her deal with whatever was left of Doug inside the suit. 

He tried to help with the seals for the first few seconds, but after it was clear she was going as fast as she could and he was only hindering her progress he let his hands drop. The helmet came off first, then the rest of the suit, and he kicked it away from him, momentum carrying him back against the far wall as the suit drifted towards her.

She grabbed the suit, and pushed it into its locker. Turned back to him. He had his arms wrapped around his knees and his head tucked down and she could hear him breathing, great, ragged gasps.

“See,” he said, voice muffled, and a little hoarse. She didn’t want to know why it was hoarse. “No problem at all.”

She knew she should do something. Touch him. Help him somehow. She swallowed. 

“You…” she said. _Tell me why. Why did you do it? Goddamnit Doug, who the hell are you?_ “You did good, Eiffel,” she said. 

A weak, tired, chuckle. 

“‘Course.”


End file.
